I’ve always hung clothes on the line.  When I was younger we had a line in the basement to dry clothes.  Although I do have excess to a dryer, I prefer the smell of clothes dried by air and sunshine, especially sheets and towels.

For the last month it has been crazy hot.  I saw on the news the other day that July was the hottest recorded month in history in this state.  The second hottest month record was last July so we have been using our outside clothesline.  Actually we’ve been using it for over twenty years.

Today  I went out to get some things I had hung up and was once again confronted with my son’s bunched up clothes that he’d left out in the rain.  They looked like they were put out there by somebody coming down off a huge load of medication and he don’t even have that excuse!

I started thinking “Why does he do this.  I have told him a million times not to put those clothes out here like this.  He’s been watching me hang clothes practically his whole life and he still.. does what he wants to do.  He has freewill.”

I have been struggling with the fact that I am the biological child of my parents.  Their blood runs through my veins and I sound and look like them.  What if some of their evil rubs off on me or my offspring?

Another feeling I have is shame.  I don’t want people to know what kind of horrible people they were.

Many times I have thought, “Oh why couldn’t I have had normal pain-in-the-ass parents like everyone else?”

People, including my son, have asked me why I am not abusive like my parents.  I would always think “Well, that’s an easy question.  Who would want to be a pedophile, murderer, child pornographer and child prostituter?  Not me.  I don’t know understand why anyone would want to live that kind of life.”

And yet I still felt that something was wrong with me.  When my son was born I began to make sense of things I had always remembered and began to remember what I had forgotten about abuse because he was such a beautiful baby.  I didn’t understand how such a person had come from inside of me.  I figured out why I felt so bad about myself, but I never got rid of that feeling something is wrong with me.

Those crammed clothes on the line help because I can see that it is true.  We are not our parents. My son is not me. We can decide to do things our own way.

That man/boy continues to be a blessing when he is not irritating me.  And I feel less shame than I did this morning.

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